Here they are, thing one and thing two.
And if things go as planned, never a thing three shall there be.
Ryan got a vasectomy last week. Way to go taking one for the team honey!
He initially thought I was taking a picture of his junk in this shot. Don’t worry honey, that one I’m saving for a special occasion.
As we rode to the hospital that morning, it was an almost out of body experience. After many years of birth control pills, 3 pregnancies, 1 miscarriage, 2 c-sections, countless scans, exams, tests and appointments, it was pretty damn awesome to let the responsibilities for our family’s reproductive future rest on someone else’s shoulders.
And Ryan is doing really well. I’m sure it wasn’t his favorite day of 2017 so far, but he’s managing just fine. He can’t work out for awhile and will need to take things slowly, but the recovery is actually pretty fast. His doctor was hilarious and even suggested we could attempt intercourse with stitches if we felt comfortable and wanted to “shake things up”.
I love a doctor with a sense of humor.
On the way home, after everything was finished and we had finally pulled the trigger, I waited for the buyers remorse to set in. I kept expecting a twinge of regret or the vision of possible future babies to come through my thoughts. Nope, not a thing but happiness that he was well and gratitude that he stepped up and agreed this was the best way to finalize our family unit.
We’ve been talking about this for a few years now, trying to decide how many kids we wanted and what would be right for our lifestyle. After Q was born we were both so in love with being parents that our estimates jumped quite a bit. There was a time where I envisioned 4, 5, maybe even 6 children. Then Q moved into toddlerhood and we pretty quickly started scaling that number back. There is a big difference between an adorable 8 month old and a moody threenager.
We also moved to our second international school and really began to notice and understand the trend for smaller families in this community. We live in small apartments, and the school only covers tuition fees for 1 dependent per working parent. If we had 3 children we’d be responsible for the college level pricing of their yearly education wherever we are working. No thank you.
But honestly, even when I was pregnant with R, I realized pretty quickly that this was it for me. Money and living space and all the technicalities aside, I really don’t think I have it in me to be a good parent to more. Granted, we’re in the weeds right now, the years of sometimes sleepless nights and diapers and tantrums. But it’s a matter of balance, my sanity with their happiness. If I give much more of myself than I’m already giving to these 2 beautiful humans, the balance will tip in a dangerous direction and I don’t want to be the mom who doesn’t play and laugh and enjoy her children.
Plus I cannot imagine being pregnant again. Seriously…. hate…. being…. pregnant.
So we talked and talked and talked about it until one day we both felt like we’d reached the 100% level of comfort with taking final measures.
And I’m feeling really good about the decision. Excited even, at the security and finality. Giving away all the baby items, no more holding on to that tiny spoon because we might need it again one day. Plus, our family just feels complete. We’ve got two little goofballs who we love more than anything, and it feels like enough.